The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 207: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE YOUNG APPRENTICE; OR, place your niece's affections were mine long be- fore Lord Cowley quitted home. However, act as you please, 1 will away to London, and the brief authority which you exercise so badly will soon come to an end.’ “My uncle grew purple in the face with rage. ‘‘* Beware !' he said, ‘beware how you insult me! You area boy, and you'll see that I allow no insults from striplings.’ Herbert advanoed towards him defiantly. ‘‘¢ Beware yourself,’ he cried ; ‘I am not care- fo: of what I do when I am in a passion, so let me pass, I will take what belongs to me out of a home which is presided over by a paltry tyrant, :and hasten to London to Lord Cowley.’ “He strode by with my arm still clinging to his, and we hurried towards the house. ‘‘T was trembling like an aspen leaf. “ The last look my uncle gave my lover was 80 fearful, so hideous, that I felt sure that he medi- tated some evil. ‘‘ I begged Herbert, therefore, not to think of fiying that night, but he seemed resolved. ‘* An evil spirit appeared to be hounding him on, and so without a farewell to any one but me, he quitted the house that day, “ How eagerly I waited for night. “ Retiring early to my bed-chamber, I re- mained dressed, as I was taking care, however, not to put on anything more than usual lest I should be watched. “ At length midnight approached. ‘I listened eagerly to every sound, but Ieonld hear nothing. ‘‘¢Thank Heaven,’ thought I, ‘he will not be seen, and I shall be able to escape unperceived.’ ‘T had sat all the time at my window, think- ing of the step I was about to take, whether I should sasneed. and what ita consequences would be to me if I did succeed, : “I now rose, and opening my door, listened eagerly. “Not a sound could be heard in the house, and I lost no time, therefore, in hurrying on my things and deseending the staircase, “All seemed favourable ; not a sound or a voice disturbed the stillness of the old house, and when I reached the hall I found the door open, or, rather, only fastened by a latch. “It a y as if they had arran things pleasantly for me; buat oh! how le would have been my anguish—how heartfelt my sorrow, if I had but known what I was about to see “Olosing the door after me as quietly as I could, I hurried along the garden path in the direction of the plantation, where my uncle had met us in the morning. “Everything outside the house looked dull and gloomy, “The very trees seemed to warn us not to aro nd T peeaia stronger and warmer than else, an in my first purpose. ‘Oh! the horror that met me there id As Lady Grace spoke she herself up closely to Harold, as if afraid of the very remi- niscenee of that fearful night, “* Dead or alive I will meet you there,’ he had said to me, and he kept his word, ‘There I found him, but not my Herbert of the morning—not the proud handsome fellow I had so admired, as he steod before my uncle daring him to the combat, “The one I found was pale, and cold, and dead, lying with his face uptummed towards the moonlit sky, and his hand grasping asword,~ . “Tt was a terrible, a fearful blow to me, ‘‘ But [ knew well whom I had to blame. “T looked at the body of the murdered youth ; IT knelt by him and kissed his pale brow; and there I vowed—an awful, terrible vow, which now I will not repeat to you. ¥ crept home ; I entered the house, and there, in the moonlit library, I saw my uncle sitting. ‘‘T cursed him—TI could not help it—and I devoted myself to his destruction; but I need not have done this, for he died that very night,’ She looked at the fire as she spoke, and averted her face altogether from Harold For- dyce. The Young Apprentice shrunk from her. Instinctively fe felt that she was keeping back part of her story. “ How did he die?” he asked, His tone startled her. “You ask imperatively,” she said, * Yes; wherefore not? You have interested me in your tale—I wish to know ita end.” “He died, then,” said Lady Grace Cowley, “that very night, and by a hideous death. You see that door yonder ?” 6é Yea,’ ‘‘Well, that door leads out upon a terrace. There was no terrace there that night, for the workmen had taken it down, and below it there was a fall of forty feet. “He must have wandered in his al it seems, to this place, and been dashed to p for he was found on the following morning upon the rough stones below, mangled almost beyond power of identification.” “ And you did not kill him ?” ‘¢T did not; what makes you think so ?” She grasped his arm tightly as she asked this “Beacause I fear you did—becaure I feel certain that you did. Since you told me thie story I feel a horror of you. By Heavens! I cannot dissemble-—I will not try to doso. Ah! what is that—that horrid figure again? See, question. see, it advances from the doorway! ‘Tis the second time I have seen it. Woman! I accuse ou of this murder! See how this Thing of Dread, with its white face and outspread arms, advances towards you !” Lady Grace from her chair as he spoke, and glanced in the ion indicated by Harold Fordyce. There in the doorway—through which the chill night air runshed—astood a ghostl figure. It was the same he had seen in Varney House. The same long, streaming hair—the same skeleton face—the same long cloak, indicating the fieshless form. “It is he! It ie he!” cried the wretched woman, covering her face with her hands, as the door blew to, and the great casement swung open in the wind. “Now,” thought Harold, “now is my time for escape.” . Regardless of the phantom which still slewly M Gq: ~ _ a - § oe , 7 8 ARQORS COVE OOOKSEEON